low tide under the sink
By Sean Wang
April 15, 2026
April 15, 2026
first hour gone, i remember the step,
a shell split at the threshold.
a shell split at the threshold.
under the cabinet a bead swells,
brown as old tea. it drops,
finds the pan i set to listen.
brown as old tea. it drops,
finds the pan i set to listen.
chipped tile by the toilet gives off
a thumbprint of lime. you kneel,
sleeve darkening, hand on the shutoff,
lamp low at the basin mouth.
your wrench ticks the stem once.
a thumbprint of lime. you kneel,
sleeve darkening, hand on the shutoff,
lamp low at the basin mouth.
your wrench ticks the stem once.
i do not step past the crease.
i stand on the grout line.
the tap counts. the pipe’s throat
works. water takes the path offered,
minute by minute. pressure eases.
i stand on the grout line.
the tap counts. the pipe’s throat
works. water takes the path offered,
minute by minute. pressure eases.
a hermit crab knows a borrowed house;
soft parts learn each seam.
my wrists go blue under the lamp.
soft parts learn each seam.
my wrists go blue under the lamp.
if i say milk, i mean the faint ring
left on a glass, that cool circle.
if i say sea, i mean the drain
talking back, the house at low tide,
a hush of shown things.
left on a glass, that cool circle.
if i say sea, i mean the drain
talking back, the house at low tide,
a hush of shown things.
i go only that far:
to the pan filling under the cabinet,
to the shell at the step, lighter each hour,
to the p-trap’s bend, lime gray,
where the house answers itself.
to the pan filling under the cabinet,
to the shell at the step, lighter each hour,
to the p-trap’s bend, lime gray,
where the house answers itself.
|
Sean Wang is a Pushcart Prize and Best Small Fictions nominated poet and PhD candidate. His poems appear or are forthcoming in West Trade Review, ONE ART, and wildscape.literary journal, among others. He can be found on Instagram at @sean_wang1997.
|
|